The Word for it is Love
by heathrowe
Summary: A drabble-collection that is a collaboration between Lollipop-Mania and I. Based off 10 one-word prompts.


Hey guys! My first fanfiction! Woot woot!

So, this is a drabble collection based off Lollipop-Mania's Valentine's Day prompt. They are not in any order and should probably be read individually (idk if they can connect or not.)

This is a collaboration. I only own some of these. Lollipopmania used some of her other ideas for these. All others belong to me. Naruto though, does not. Have fun.

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><p><strong>10. Shogi<strong>

She pushes aside the board in one graceful movement—something he _knows _he is completely incapable of. She crawls toward him, clavicles in the air and shirt hanging low enough to be at his fancy. He likes that she is pressing her hips against his, aligning her thighs by his waist, stretching and mewling. But the board still shows the arrayed tiles and he is one move away from winning.

She is orgasm, but the tile is victory. As she claws at the hem of his shirt, he leans over and makes the move.

**9. Proposal**

He'd thought it out a hundred times. He knew exactly how he was going to do it—what words he was going to say, what face he was going to make. It was a serious, epical moment in their relationship, and he couldn't screw it up.

But the moment he saw her standing there as his half of the unit pulled into the barracks, bruised, but alive, all previous intentions flew out the window. The words came out before she'd even greeted him. Her response was interrupted by a groan from her brother, whom had been conveniently standing there the whole time.

**8. Breath**

Shikamaru can feel rather than see her sigh. He can feel her ribs expand, only a shift from where he is behind her, leaning over. But it is a movement large enough to remind him that the woman whose shoulder he is currently looking over is not in any sort of place to be in such close proximity to another man.

He remembers that he must keep his feelings in check. He is not to stand too close to Temari. That is her boyfriend's job.

When he moves away, the sigh sounds a little deeper.

**7. Valentine's Day**

"If you'd just met me for the first time tonight," Temari says, inserting a pause as she decides on her next words, "what would you say?"

Shikamaru rubs his neck, thinking about this. "Hypothetically?"

"Hypothetically."

"Well, _hypothetically, _if we'd only met for the first time tonight, and I didn't know anything about you, I'd probably still walk you home." He isn't looking at her. "I might ask to join you for a drink in your hotel room." He shifts his weight, "but, since this I do know you, and I do know your alliance, I can't ask to come up. You have a meeting tomorrow morning anyway."

Temari nods. "What would you do after?"

Shikamaru looks down at her in question.

"Hypothetically, after you came into my hotel room, what would happen?"

"We'd have a drink," he says, as though the answer was obvious, "and then maybe, if you let me, I'd make love to you."

"Oh." She swallows, licking her lips. "That would've, hypothetically, been nice."

He, too, swallows and licks his lips. The silence stretches on. "Morning then."

"Right, morning." He departs quickly.

**6. Walking**

He takes her hand for the first time in April. He holds it for a few minutes. At first, she looks down at it, apprehensive and suspicious. She soon forgets the contact. In bed, he holds her hand all the time. But that is different; that is usually when her face is in the pillows and she can't urge him on, or rather, offer connection, verbally.

But it's different when they walk. It is different for her. She has no reason to hold his hand.

When he squeezes it, she remembers that there is more contact than necessary. She lets go.

**5. Sweat**

At night, sometimes, he remembers. She'd never had nightmares. It was something she'd learned to suppress, or maybe ignore—he wasn't sure. But either way, she never woke up screaming.

He did.

His skin would be covered in sweat, his lungs empty of air, his throat scratched.

She would have already awoken from his fitful, bodily tremors. When he woke with a cry, she would have a glass of water ready. As he sipped it and tried to remember that he was at home, in his bed, and the war was long over, she would wipe the sweat from his neck and his temple and his back with a towel and then she'd take his hand when they laid down again and she'd bring it across her chest, pulling him closer.

**4. Smiles**

There is a smile he saves just for her. A small one. In all actuality, it is smaller than his regular one. He doesn't grin. She does, but he doesn't. He smirks a lot. And he smirks at her _all the time._ But this isn't a smirk. This is more of a long look and miniscule crease of the lip. So subtle, in fact, that he doesn't even seem to notice it.

When she says to him that he saves a look just for her, he thinks she is idiotic.

Right before he kisses her for the first time, he is pretty sure she says "there's my look," but he isn't positive, and he is in no position to double check, what with the blood rushing away from his head.

**3. Cunnilingus**

She wasn't sure where he'd gone. They'd been kissing one moment, furiously removing shirts and kicking off shoes, and the next he was gone. And then she felt his hands take her knees and spread them even further apart. She opened her mouth to question him—honestly, it was just sex; he'd had it before—she _remembered _his past girlfriends-there was no need for him to have to _look _at her underwear in order to take it off.

But then he wasn't looking. He was drawing one of her legs over his shoulder and kissing inside her kneecap and she knew what was coming next. They were only supposed to fuck—quick, easy sex for a night. She wanted to protest this. He shouldn't be taking it slow, he shouldn't be _pleasuring _her. They weren't "making love". But then his mouth was on her over her panties and her heel dug into his back sharply as all words of objection left her mouth in a gasp.

**2. Argument**

"You can't just do those kind of things," Temari said, brushing his hand off her arm. "Not in front of them."

"Oh, but in private it's okay?" He retorted, fists clenching.

She moved back. "You said you'd forget about that!"

Something snapped. "How could I ever forget! I think about it, every day."

"It was only a kiss, we were fooling around. You need to _leave _it, Shikamaru. It meant nothing"

That was far from true. He remembered all of it. And it was far more than a kiss. It was lips meeting in the middle of the street and hands wandering and searching in his apartment and heat shared as bodies pressed together against the wall. It was moaning and breathing and burning and sweating and everything that it should be. Everything it would've been, if her boyfriend hadn't come home. And everything it could be, if only she'd realize.

**1. Heart**

There is a pounding, loud and quick, but all too steady. She can hear it. It is so strong the beating has now become audible. Besides the attempted control of wet breaths, only the pulse can be heard. Temari tries not to blush, humiliated. But she is too surprised to dwell on it. Instead, she brings a hand to her chest, completely forgetting about Shikamaru standing before her. She feels it for a moment, before realizing that something is off with the pounding of her heartbeat and the one in her ears.

Before she can grin, he slowly takes her hand off her chest and entangles their fingers, pulling her closer to kiss her again. She forgets about the beating and wraps her other hand in his loose hair. But then he pulls away, as if an afterthought, and whispers an apology. She kisses him harder this time.

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><p>A line here is taken from a television show.<p>

Thank you to Lollipopmania (again) for the wonderful beta!

And review, if you'd be so kind! (it IS my first fic though, so try to be nice ;p)


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